Whiskey Moon

But it makes sense now.

Wyatt’s the spitting image of his father—and the love of his daughter’s life.

“Dad … you told Wyatt to stay away from me, didn’t you?” I ask, mentally stringing together all the little pieces.

Wyatt still loves me …

Wyatt never got over me, never moved on …

Wyatt can’t be with me …

He can’t tell me why …

My father has gone to great lengths to keep me in New York …

My father owns his ranch …

His father stole Renata from my father …

This is the only thing that makes sense.

“Did you threaten Wyatt?” I ask. “Did you tell him they’d lose the farm if he …”

I can’t finish the sentence. It’s too awful. All I can think about is an eighteen-year-old Wyatt losing his father and being forced to choose between me … or keeping his family’s farm.

It couldn’t have been easy for him.

And given the circumstances, he made the right decision.

My heart aches for Wyatt, longing to wrap my arms around him and kiss his face and tell him I love him even more now that I understand.

He sacrificed a lifetime of happiness so his family would be provided for.

He is the epitome of a good man.

“How could you?” I speak through gritted teeth. “How could you destroy someone else’s happiness like that? How could you rob your own daughter of a choice that wasn’t yours to make? Who made you God?”

I can’t look at him another second longer.

“Oliver,” Odette’s gasping voice steals both of our attention. Standing in the doorway, her hand clenched at her neck, is my gape-mouthed, teary-eyed stepmother. “Is that … is that true?”

My father puffs his chest. “Of course not. She’s being dramatic—you know how she is.”

Odette’s eyes water, but her lips are pressed into a firm line. Directing her attention toward me, her gaze softens, sympathetic almost.

“You’re always so quick to dismiss anyone who questions you,” she says. “You’ve done it to me for years. And now you’re doing it to your daughter.”

“I’m not dismissing anyone,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m simply stating that Blaire has it all wrong.”

Odette takes a step closer to his desk.

“Does she?” She swipes the stack of pictures, fanning through them. “You know, I always wondered why you kept me at an arm’s length … and I always felt like some sort of third place consolation prize. And I understood, Oliver. You were a widower. And your daughter came first. But now I realize I wasn’t playing second fiddle to them … it was Renata.”

My father massages his temples.

Without warning, Odette grabs the crystal anniversary clock off his desk and hurls it against the fireplace on the other side of the room.

It smashes into a million pieces.

I take it as my cue to leave.

Grabbing my things, I make a mad dash for my car.

I have to find Wyatt.

I have to tell him that I know everything.

34

Wyatt

* * *

I’m sitting on the front porch, wrapping my head around Mama’s confession and examining my options regarding Oliver Abbott, when a silver Toyota flies over the hill and turns down our drive. A second later, Blaire emerges from the driver’s seat, moving in such a hurry she hardly shuts the door behind her.

She dashes up the front walk, and the closer she gets, the more I see she’s been crying.

If she came here to try to fight for us one last time …

I rise and she crashes into me, throwing her arms around my shoulder and squeezing me so tight it steals my breath.

“I know,” she says, her words muzzled against my shoulder. “I know everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

She cups my face in her hands, her wild eyes searching mine. “I know my father has the deed to your ranch. And I know your mama broke his heart and it killed him to watch me fall in love with the son of the man who took everything from him. I know he’s the one who made you stay away from me.”

The heaviness that’s been living in my chest these last ten years begins to clear little by little, with each passing breath.

“You were caught between a rock and a hard place,” Blaire continues. “You did the right thing. You did what you had to do. You kept your family together. You did all of that …” her voice breaks. “ … and you waited for me. You never moved on. You never stopped loving me.”

I crush her mouth with a kiss, tasting the salt of her tears as three-thousand-sixty-five days of secrets and solitude fade into the background.

I don’t know what this means for the farm quite yet—but I know what it means for us.

35

Blaire

* * *

“I don’t know what’s worse.” I press my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as we lie in a tangled mess of sheets at the line shack Sunday night. “Being in love with someone who doesn’t want you or being in love with someone you’re forbidden to be with.”